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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530265">14 Days of DA Lovers: Dorian x Lavellan Edition</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarTwinkPelle/pseuds/SugarTwinkPelle'>SugarTwinkPelle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Male Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Skyhold (Dragon Age), The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Valentine's Day</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:22:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarTwinkPelle/pseuds/SugarTwinkPelle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A masterpost of all my drabbles for Tumblr's 14 Days of DA Lovers Prompts feat my Lavellan, Pelle, and Dorian Pavus &lt;3</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Rose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their romance was subtle, nothing either of them imagined anyone could have noticed with how careful they were. Dorian had not learned truly that who he was perfectly alright, and Pelle well–he had problems of his own involving his sexuality. However, what they both knew was that they had each other, and for now, even if in the shadows it was enough for now. </p>
<p>It surprised Pelle the way Dorian had found ways to spoil him with affection. Always careful but never any less thoughtful. Today it came in the form of a simple gift, laid upon the desk in his quarters upon his return from days of wrestling politics, a task quite frankly more taxing than any demon. </p>
<p>The young elf had not seen Dorian since he’d returned. If he had a guess most were asleep at this hour. Soon he would be as well. Upon arriving in Skyhold, Pelle dragged himself straight to his tower, loosening the braids in his hair as he climbed the winding stairs to his room. He couldn’t wait to take off these stuffy clothes and take a well-deserved nap. </p>
<p>At the top was his room, secluded and quiet. He was happy to see it that way. A few hours of silence was going to do much good for his nerves. He was completely prepared to remove his clothes and replace them with something more comfortable when he stopped in front of his desk–something was different than the way he’d left it. </p>
<p>A smile tugged at his lips upon seeing a rose left on the desktop. It was absolutely clipped from the garden, and still, it put a smile on his face to think that Dorian had even planned such a thing. That he knew Pelle would come back to the castle today, come into his room, and see the flower there. </p>
<p>He didn’t hesitate to pick it up, already charmed by the simple gesture when he realized that what the rose lay upon was also not there when he left his room some days ago. It was…a book. One about something that Pelle had expressed a fascination with to Dorian once in the past. </p>
<p>How fitting of his vhenas to leave him a rose with a book about stars lying beneath it. It was after all a very Dorian thing to do to hide a gift underneath another to see how much attention Pelle really paid to his surroundings. </p>
<p>He would have to thank him later. It was a pleasant surprise.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Holding Hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Winter Palace was beautiful…</p>
<p>Twenty-three years he’d been living and never did Pelle think he’d ever laid eyes on anything so grand and exquisite as Halamshiral–or at least the parts of it that remained intact. It had not escaped his attention that not so very long ago the alienage beyond the gate had been burned to the ground murdering thousands of innocent elves. It made him sick to his stomach to think about it–all those elves, slaughtered. To think, all these Orlesians around him believed that what happened was an act of justice– a grim reminder to him just how evil these people could truly be. </p>
<p>It was here in these halls that he knew that he stood before the real demons of Thedas…not the mangled creatures twisted and misunderstood by those who knew nothing of them. It was here that he was a halla, and the Orlesians wolves who wished to tear at his flesh and eat him alive. </p>
<p>The irony of that statement was that he was dressed very much like a halla. What he’d arrived at the ball wearing was not a fashion statement but a declaration. A declaration that he would not silence himself not his culture in favor of Orlesian comfort, for they had nay done the same for his people in the past. </p>
<p>It may have been a masquerade but Pelle had chosen to wear no mask. Instead, he painted over his vallaslin with shimmering silver paint so it stood out amongst the masses. Atop his head was a circlet, crafted to resemble the horns of his people’s sacred animal. His attire was ethereal but practical. His embroidered robe draped over his body like water, the organza making it practically transparent to reveal what could easily be mistaken for ceremonial keeper’s dress beneath. It was all very ceremonial in appearance, a silent refusal to colonize himself and reject all that he knew in favor of being more acceptable in their eyes.</p>
<p>A brave statement but also a terrifying one at the hands of the Orlesian court. Josephine had warned him of the dangers of the court. That everything he did and said was a matter of life and death. From past experience–he knew she told no lies. </p>
<p>Dorian supported his declaration, but he also knew so little of why these people terrified the young elf so much. It was a story Pelle had yet to share with him. He hadn’t dared ask, but when Pelle reached for his hand before entering the gates he was quick to oblige. </p>
<p>Pelle said nothing to him, he only squeezed the Altus’ hand as they were led inside by soldiers tasked with seeing them safely inside. He was holding his breath the entire journey through the halls and into the palace. He knew people were looking at him, sizing him up…even if he expected it he did not like it. There were so many people here, enough that it would be impossible to be aware of all of their thoughts and intentions. </p>
<p>That unnerved him…</p>
<p>It was Dorian who finally broke the silence between them with a soft “Pelledir.”</p>
<p>The elf’s ears twitched in response before he turned his attention to Dorian. Wordless he was, his round amber eyes gazing into Dorian’s own, taking in the concerned expression on his face. </p>
<p>“You look pale…” Dorian pointed out. “Are you alright?” </p>
<p>Pelle sighed, turning his eyes back to the vestibule. “They’re all watching us…” He whispered. </p>
<p>Dorian gave a knowing nod. “I know…” </p>
<p>“Doesn’t that bother you…?” Pelle asked him. </p>
<p>Dorian shrugged. “You get used to it. Deviance does attract eyes you know.” </p>
<p>Pelle frowned. ‘You’re lucky then.”</p>
<p>Dorian paused, turning his gaze from the elf. “I suppose…though I think that greatly depends on who you ask.”</p>
<p>Pelle turned back to Dorian but did not rebuttal. He said nothing because while Dorian had not outright said anything–Pelle felt a strong indication that Dorian himself too hated how accustomed he was to being stared at. He saw the visible offense Dorian had taken to the comment even if he chose not to remind Pelle that he was not the only person who might feel out of place at times.  It was too often that Pelle forgot that while Dorian was not an elf, he was in a way an outcast himself. The difference was Dorian could conceal that of him which was not acceptable–Pelle could not. </p>
<p>Their conversation was drawn to a close by the ringing of bells calling them to the ballroom. It was brief, but Pelle squeezed Dorian’s hand before casually leading him along into the ballroom. </p>
<p>He didn’t mean to gawk but he’d never been to a palace before and quite frankly there was a lot to take in. His eyes didn’t even know where to start. It was only when he heard a voice announcing Gaspard’s arrival that his attention returned to the ball. </p>
<p>Watching Gaspard walk across the ball–Pelle couldn’t deny he didn’t trust him. Yes he was technically a guest of Gaspard’s but there was something off about him. Of course, he already didn’t favor the fact that Gaspard was pro military but that was another story for another time. </p>
<p>When Gaspard turned round, Pelle knew his turn to do the same was coming and he would have to free Dorian. </p>
<p>Or that was what he thought…</p>
<p>Dorian had beaten him to the punch. Pelle’s heart sank when he felt Dorian tense up and tear his hand away from him when Gaspard made direct eye contact with them. It hurt…but Pelle knew why he did it. </p>
<p>It was just like in the vestibule, Dorian too was an outcast. However, Dorian could conceal it if he wished. He was afraid of being seen, afraid of what others would say but most of all he was afraid of what would become of him or his family’s reputation. It didn’t matter if what he did was cruel–or maybe it did. </p>
<p>It took Pelle all the self control in his small frame not to look at the altus, to grab snatch his hand back and demand Dorian not act like he was ashamed of Pelle. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. </p>
<p>It was at that point that he heard his name being read aloud, that was his queue to descend down the stairs and soon join Gaspard. And that was exactly what he did. </p>
<p>What he didn’t know was that standing there behind Dorian too was hurt by his actions. For what Dorian could not express–not her at least, was that he was more ashamed of his internalized prejudice against himself than he could ever be of Pelle. He hated that after all these years of having his heart broken by men who were ashamed of their feelings for him that he himself had become them. </p>
<p>It was sick the things fear could make a man do…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bow and Arrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Just…don’t touch it. Okay?” </p>
<p>How did they even get to this point? Of all the places for Dorian to get shot with an arrow…Pelle didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. On one hand, he could have been shot somewhere far worse, but on the other, this had to be the most humorous place to take a hit. </p>
<p>And Mythal was Dorian being a drama queen about it.</p>
<p>He hadn’t even noticed it until Pelle pointed it out to him…or more like announced it to the entire party on accident. Just like that, all eyes were on Dorian who right until now had no clue about the arrow that was sticking right out of his ass. </p>
<p>He’d stopped in his tracks when Pelle demanded he not touch the arrow. A hand gripped on the arrow ready to yank it out when Pelle’s voice snatched his attention. He stared at the elf-like a horse caught in front of a speeding carriage as his hand slowly released the arrow. </p>
<p>“…let me get it out. I’m the healer after all.” Pelle insisted. </p>
<p>“No don’t!” Dorian cried. “Leave it.” </p>
<p>Pelle cocked an eyebrow at the Altus. “Leave it? You want to walk around with an arrow in your arse?” he asked him though he did not expect an answer. </p>
<p>Dorian paused. “Well…no it’s just–” “Scared it will hurt?” Pelle interrupted. </p>
<p>He frowned at the elf. He didn’t notice the arrow but now that he did it was unpleasant. It did need to come out–but the thought was embarrassing. It was going to bleed, Pelle was going to heal it. It was going to look ridiculous, an elf focusing so intently with a hand on his bottom just out in the open like this. Clothed or not the idea was still a bit mortifying, to say the least. </p>
<p>“It’ll be over before you’ve even had time to think about it,” Pell assured him. “Just hold still.” </p>
<p>He didn’t like it, but Dorian did as he was told. He closed his eyes, doing his best not to give way to any anxiety that wanted to creep in. He fought to ignore the hand he felt grasp the stick attached to the head impaled to him. </p>
<p>“Agh! Kaffas!” He cried when Pelle tugged the arrow free and tossed it to the side. </p>
<p>It stung for a moment, then before he could even suffer the pain of the wound–it stopped. The sting was replaced with the touch of warm hands as they mended the minimal damage done to his flesh and just like that–it was over. </p>
<p>“See?” He heard Pelle say from behind him. “Good as new.” the elf joked. </p>
<p>“I’ll be the judge of that.” He replied. “You know I’ll notice if something is askew.” </p>
<p>“Would you like me to take a closer look?” Pelle jested. “Not here obviously but–later.” </p>
<p>Dorian had to withdraw the giggle that dared slip out. A bold comment from someone who was just as eager to keep their relationship on the down-low. No less humorous though. </p>
<p>“If you wish,” said Dorian. “Maker knows I won’t turn down a proper examination.”</p>
<p>Pelle couldn’t help but smirk. “I look forward to it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Napping Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’d been years since Pelle had felt this sick. He didn’t miss it: the migraines, the way all the strength in his body had abandoned him, the way he was so hungry and yet his body refused to keep down any kind of nourishment. When he was a child, his illness had left Deshanna afraid he may die by adolescence, yet here he was. Thank Mythal he’d grown out of his poor childhood health–mostly if he wanted to consider today a sign that this flu of his wasn’t quite done with him yet.  </p>
<p>He’d shut the curtains draping over his bed to keep as much of the light from his windows as he could, the exposure only made his splitting headaches worse. A forgotten cup of chamomile tea sat on the bedside table half consumed. Tea was one of the only things his body was willing to keep down, Josephine had been bringing him some every few hours to make sure he wasn’t wasting away in his quarters. </p>
<p>The only good thing about being this sick was that it was not the first time, which meant that Pelle knew exactly how to deal with it. He knew what he could and could not consume as well as what treatments would help him recover in a reasonable amount of time should he get the required rest to make it happen. It wasn’t hard to tell Josephine or even Solas what he needed, both of them seemed pretty open to assisting him.                  </p>
<p>It was nighttime now, the sun had finally gone down leaving only a small hint of moonlight on his balcony. He was sitting up in bed, a candle near his tea as he read through the book Dorian had left for him not so very long ago. It was a thoughtful gift, given Pelle had expressed an interest in the stars that he could not sate at home thanks to a majority of astrology coming from what he had been told was Tevinter heritage.     </p>
<p>How lucky he was that Dorian himself, was from Tevinter.     </p>
<p>“Feeling any better?” asked Dorian. </p>
<p>By now he knew he needed no invitation to Pelle’s tower. He could come and go as he pleased–or stay in some cases. Pelle had made it quite clear that he did not mind Dorian’s attention, the Altus might even go so far as to say the elf craved it. They’d spoken little in the recent week thanks to Dorian being on an assignment, but once he’d heard Pelle was ill he made it a point to see him once he’d settled back in. </p>
<p>Pelle offered him a weary smile, turning his attention away from the book he was perusing. “You’re back.” </p>
<p>He didn’t even need an answer once he’d gotten a look at Pelle’s face. The elf was exhausted–quite frankly he looked like shit. His skin looked pale and his eyes heavy from the fatigue. His hair was let down leaving his blond curls to settle anywhere they pleased. He was dressed in no more than one of Dorian’s shirts which hung off of him due to his rather small frame. He hadn’t even mentioned the half-drunken tea, the tower of books beside his bed, or wooden stick barely peeking out from under the linens that could only be a bed warmer.</p>
<p>The verdict: He was not feeling better.</p>
<p>“You look terrible amatus…” said Dorian crossing the room to place his hands over the elf’s cheeks and examine him a little closer. </p>
<p>Pelle shrugged. “It’s just a bad cold,” he assured him. </p>
<p>But Dorian wasn’t convinced. His face was riddled with concern the longer he stared at Pelle. Not that he was any doctor but–it was hard for him to believe that Pelle just had a bad cold. This seemed far worse. </p>
<p>“I used to get sick like this a lot when I was younger,” Pelle continued, “I’m familiar with it, and I know how to treat it. I look bad now but I promise I’ll be alright.” </p>
<p>Dorian sighed deeply, “If you’re sure…I guess I’ve no choice but to believe you do I?” He replied, releasing Pelle’s face from his touch. </p>
<p>He would remain concerned, as any lover would. However, he did not think Pelle would lie to him about something as serious as his health. He could drag this out if he wanted to, tell Pelle that he worked too hard and wasn’t taking care of himself, but even that wasn’t entirely true. Pelle may have worked tirelessly but he never neglected himself in the process. Even on the busiest of days, Dorian had never seen Pelle in public looking disheveled or out of touch. </p>
<p>In a way, it was a bit sad, because he knew Pelle only stayed so put together to prove that he wasn’t some savage running an army but a collected and respectable person. Had he the choice, Dorian was sure he would wander these halls dressed as comfortably as he, please. But he couldn’t. He had a reputation to uphold and people whose respect demanded that he fall into some form of conformity…or that seemed to be how Pelle saw it at least.</p>
<p>But his concern had all but been cast aside by Pelle who had scooted over to leave Dorian space in his bed. He glanced at the bed then back to Dorian before patting the empty space and ushering Dorian to have a seat. </p>
<p>“Take off your shoes and lie down with me,” the elf requested. “You’re human so you’re already immune to what I’ve got.” </p>
<p>“Oh?” Was Dorian’s only response. </p>
<p>“What I’ve got would only be a threat to you if you were an elf,” Pelle elaborated. “So come, lie down. I know you’re tired too I can see it in your face.” </p>
<p>Any other day he might have taken offense to the comment, but Pelle was right. He’d only returned a little over an hour ago. He’d been back only enough time to remove his armor and to bathe before rushing to check on his amatus. There was no sense in denying that he could use a nap, Pelle knew him well enough to know that the lack of his usual vain and self-confident persona was a sign that he did not have the energy to play that role, he was quieter than normal, offering rather short responses as opposed to glamorizing himself in the face of being pointed out as anything but perfection. </p>
<p>Pelle was not blind to what he was like when he was tired, and so Dorian took off his shoes and climbed in. </p>
<p>Pelle wasted no time closing in on Dorian to cuddle with him. Anyone could guess that the elf might have been getting a bit lonely lying up here by himself only speaking to someone for a few minutes every few hours. Pelle was actually quite social for someone who seemed to loathe idle chatter of the court. He’d grown up in with people around him almost constantly–Dalish and their small living arrangements and all that. But even more than that his attention was constantly competed for as Inquisitor, it was a miracle Dorian could even steal some alone time with him once in a while. </p>
<p>Being up here in complete silence for hours at a time must have been maddening to him.</p>
<p>Dorian was quick to accept the elf’s affection. Carefully he shifted about until he found a place in bed that he was comfortable, Pelle too moved about as needed until he and Dorian were comfortably lying together. Neither of them said another word to each other, both simply enjoying the other’s company. </p>
<p>Pelle was the first to drift into sleep, leaving Dorian to lay there simply petting the mess of curls that had gone ahead and sprawled all over the both of them. Even if Pelle was sick, he couldn’t help smiling just a little watching him sleep. It was one of the only times he really felt that Pelle didn’t have some underlying expression of stress on his face. </p>
<p>He wasn’t awake so he wasn’t constantly going through lists of things to do, pondering how what he said or had done might affect those around or their perception of him. He wasn’t thinking about the people he’d let down back home or all the people who yet lived that depended upon him. When he was asleep he was just Pelle. And to Dorian, Pelle was beautiful. </p>
<p>It didn’t take much longer for sleep to find him as well. Quite frankly it snuck up on him with little to no warning. He’d simply been lying there caressing the elf whose head lay over his chest as he took in the most pointless details of his room. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. </p>
<p>By the time Josephine had made another round to check on Pelle in the morning, both of them were still wrapped up in the other fast asleep. The ambassador could not resist grinning at the two. She turned back to the stairs and left them alone, Dorian seemed to have Pelle well taken care of.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Love Letter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I know this will most likely reach your scribe before it does you and so I raise you unknown scribe. Do not open this letter, it has been sealed with reasons that are none of your concern. </p>
<p>—</p>
<p>Now that he’s gone…</p>
<p>Hello Vhenas, </p>
<p>I’m sorry it’s been so long…know that I have not forgotten you. In truth, I miss you more and more every day. Everything reminds me of you from the books in the library to the missing wine bottles in the cellars. I often think of all the books we read together, banting ideas and theories about them to one another. All the wine bottles we smuggled up to my quarters getting drunk and enjoying each other’s company…pokin round a little and all that. </p>
<p>I confess that the wine doesn’t taste the same without you for one, as well as a great deal many other things. I know you won’t believe me but Skyhold is quieter, lonelier these days now that we’re not all out chasing some old god. It’s nice to have a moment to breathe…but also a little bit dull. </p>
<p>Plus we’ve had more guests since the world’s sort of calmed down and by Mythal’s fuckin bosom the nobles are so exhausting–</p>
<p>I can’t believe the cheek of some of them I tell you. Feels like ever since we did that thing all I’m good for to them is a good story of some daring adventure they’re too chicken shite to actually try themselves. I don’t know what I expected but this wasn’t it.</p>
<p>But I didn’t write to you to complain.</p>
<p>I wanted you to know that though I never said it nearly enough that I love you. There isn’t a passing day that I don’t miss the man behind that ornate mask you put on every morning. You’re perfect without it, even if you don’t believe me. But when I say I miss you, I don’t miss the version of yourself you projected to the world–I miss you. </p>
<p>I hope that Tevinter is kinder to you than when you left it and that any tensions between your family don’t cause you and your da to turn against each other again. You deserve to be loved regardless of who you are because who you are is brilliant and beautiful. I simply wish everyone else could see that. </p>
<p>You’re going to do great things, this much I know. You’re far smarter and more capable than you or anyone else has ever given you credit for. And though my heart aches to be so far away from you, just know you have all my love and support. </p>
<p>Should you ever need to talk, if you need someone to just listen know that I am only a letter away…</p>
<p>Ar lath ma, vhenan, Bellanaris, </p>
<p>Pelledir Sibil Lavellan</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Fighting Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sticks clashed against each other as the two mages brought down their sparring staves. For both of them. physical combat was still foreign to them. Both of them before the inquisition had lived a somewhat studious life, Dorian apprenticed under Alexius and Pelle training to become a Keeper. For both of them, magical discipline was easy. Bending the fade, casting spells, etc.</p><p>What neither of them (and many mages could say the same) had neglected to learn was how to properly fight. Dorian never considered he might need to and Pelle–well his clan’s battle master didn’t think he was cut out for fighting and was better off sticking to his magic and his medicines. It was only out of necessity that either of them had begun learning alternate uses for a staff, Cullen had insisted.</p><p>Are you going easy on me?” Pelle asked taking back his staff before swinging again. “</p><p>Dorian didn’t know whether to take that as an insult or not. He wasn’t going easy on Pelle aside from maybe swinging somewhat lighter than his full strength. But his technique? His form? This was all how he’d always done things. </p><p>Pelle might have had as little experience in physical combat as him, but he was smaller–more graceful than Dorian. Watching his dodge blows and swing that the training staff was like watching a dance. And Pelle was very good at dancing…</p><p>The real truth was that he might have been a little distracted. He was more interested in watching Pelle than he was in trying to fight him. For someone so small the young elf had heart that was for sure. </p><p>“I can assure you that’s not what’s going on.” Said Dorian bringing his staff close to guard his face from Pelle who just kept swinging at him–probably trying to make him fight back.</p><p>“Then why won’t you hit? You know I can take it right?” The young elf kept on, eager to get Dorian to swing back again. </p><p>“Think about what you’re asking–” Said Dorian, absolutely alluding to the fact that Pelle was coming at him relentlessly as he asked him to fight back. </p><p>It didn’t make any sense, but of course the young elf wasn’t thinking about that. </p><p>“I have thought about it,” Pelle argued. “and I think you’re going easy on me.”</p><p>Dorian let out a loud huff before he decided to give the elf what he wanted. The next time Pelle’s staff collided with his he pushed forwards towards him, knocking Pelle off his balance. </p><p>Pelle yelped in surprise to the sudden shift in Dorian’s force. It took him back a few steps before he was able to regain control of his stance again. Though it was short lived as once he’d stopped stumbling, Dorian came back at him again. The second strike though again blocked with a staff held close to the elf’s face sent him stumbling to the ground.  </p><p>He crawled back up to his knees when the next swing came. A slight lean to the opposite side the staff had struck the ground instead. It gave him enough time to make it back to his feet, but not enough to leave Dorian open. </p><p>They fell into a stable back and forth of swinging and parrying with one another for some time, both of them just waiting for an opening to change the rythm of things. In this case, Pelle technically had the upper hand. </p><p>Being as small as he was, it was normal for him to seek out unconventional places to strike, places that might not take down his foes instantly but were key for buying him time. </p><p>And finally one of those opportunities arose…and Pelle did not waste it.</p><p>However…he didn’t have the strength to follow through and found himself flat on his back with Dorian pressed over him, his staff held barely above his neck as he and the Altus stared at each other in the eyes. </p><p>“You lost amatus,” Dorian gloated, a smirk playing at his lips.</p><p>Pelle was silent for only a moment before trying another tactic. He leaned upwards just slightly and pressed his lips against Dorian’s to see if he could get him to loosen his grip. </p><p>But Dorian only laughed at his attempt. “That’s cheating Pelledir,” He remarked. “Don’t be such a sore loser.” </p><p>Once again, Dorian had outsmarted him and used his own tricks against. Where Pelle had wanted Dorian to loosen his grip, it was Pelle who had started to let go of his staff in favor and holding Dorian’s face so that he might pull him down to kiss him again. </p><p>He truly was a lover, not a fighter.</p>
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